One, two, tree, four.... . All my friends in magazines. Got addicted to the word, 'leave'. And they all wrote love songs that they believed. Little lies and massive dreams.
My open lists are yearning for your anxious meal. Some call it influence while others slowy learn to steal. And the fictional curtains have turned to glass.
Pack the mornin up, it's gone away. Everybody here is wide awake. I'm addicted to your aging face. Little deaths and little lives replaced. . Seize the back-me-ups and climb the stairs.